Lipstick Stains On Your Hearse (Baby, I'm A Curse)
by ElectraBaby
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, a Mafia boss who bites more than he can chew, is at a local speakeasy. That's what he thought it was. The Cavern is a gentlemen's club tucked beneath the big apple's skyline, glittering lights, and bottled wine. It's home to the mysterious dancer who takes his breath away. Are his feelings shared or does Eros only take cash?


It's a dark night at the end of December, bright lights over sparkling champagne.

Laughter falls from their foamed glasses, lovers playing pretend in the face of whiskey. The band raises a crowd to their feet, twisting and tumbling a partner around in their formal attire until one of them is falling. Men play a game of poker over the railings, drinking their heads silly and fishing for more 's hazier than a fogged morning, tar stains plastered along the wall. Viktor Nikiforov is lined by the bar, breathing an ounce of fresh air. They wouldn't find him here. There's a shadow over him. It captures his eyes, turns it duller than the grey in paint.

The chaotic scene is cut short. There's a shrill from the microphone, voice griming through.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a show's about to start."

It's a ghost town, all of them are hovering around the stage, burrowed in their cashmere sweaters like animals. An eerie scratch from the record player startles a nearby worker into dropping their tray. Shattered glass collides with the floor.

"Give a warm welcome, to the one, the only..."

There, from the shadows behind the curtain, emerged one of the most beautiful creatures Viktor had ever seen.

"Eros."

He greets the audience with a wave, his figure shaped by the black corset around the lithe waist, paired with lingerie stockings. What lies underneath the gloves he wears so daringly? The dancer raises his hands to the sky, back arched in submission. The heel taps and his hips are swaying back and forth. He turns towards the crowd, a predatory smile lined in lipstick. His hair is gelled back, black locks lustrous in the fluorescent light. He's taking from the audience gasps, like a siren he sweeps them overboard.

His eyes pry through them. Hand on hip, Eros's head falls back. He parts his lips, swinging to the beat.

 _The night is bitter  
The stars have lost their glitter_

His hands at his hip. Heavy lid to his gaze, Eros crouches on his knees, fondling a lucky man's scruff. His fingers travel to the neck, scratching until the skin breaks. Eros digs deeper until blood is gracing his nails. There's a clear groan from his victim but he only licks his lips. The man grabs Eros by his thighs, and a slap harshly hits the air.

"No touching."

 _The winds grow colder  
Suddenly you're older  
And all because of the man that got away_

He moves onto his hands and knees, backside propped shamelessly for the rest of the world to see. He crawls across the stage, not caring if his stockings lie torn.

 _The man that won you  
Has run off and undone you  
That great beginning  
Has seen the final inning  
Don't know what happened  
It's all a crazy game_

He bats his lashes at the onlookers, wearing his brow sharp. Money flew to the stage, men pulling anything out of their shoes to give.

 _Good riddance, goodbye  
Every trick of his you're on to  
But, fools will be fools  
And where's he gone to?_

They called it dancing. The way his hips grind against the pole, more than provocative, inviting. He lets them fall, because tomorrow they'll forget his name. He meets a pair of crystallized eyes.

 _There is nothing sadder than  
A one-man woman looking for  
The man that got away  
The man that got away_

Eros blows the audience a kiss, sealing the deal with a wink. He takes the hoots and hollers like they're all he's worth.

The audience went back to their tables. They sipped at their boos and continued previous conversation. Had they not seen him?

He takes to the bar, fishing a twenty out. "Hey, bartender?"

"Huh?"

"Think you could get me a bourbon?"

The bill pats against the bar, a whisper in the exchange.  
"Would you like ice with that?"

* * *

That night had been hell on earth for Yuuri. It was Saturday, which of course meant overworked men surfacing at the edge of three. Don't get him wrong, he doesn't complain when an extra fiver is thrown in his direction. It's just, sometimes the attention can be too much. The way they handled him in the hushed shadows, gripping and pulling him down. How repulsing their groans linger on the tip of his ear. It's left him in shivers just thinking about it.

He's hiding in the bathroom. He fixes his face, applying a small dose of lipgloss. Another person enters the restroom. He could barely make them out in the cracked mirror. They're painted in shadows. It's like the fumes at the end of a canvas, in spirals only an artist of Van Gogh's time would know.

He lights a cigarette, smoke puffing out the side his mouth. Yuuri's throat grows tighter in the fume. He coughs, breaking the silence. The man lets out a small chuckle. He slides his shin along the wall, breaching his gaze in Yuuri's direction. When it came to clients like this, he had them pinned like a tac to paper. They wanted him to believe they were out to get him. Like a cat and mouse game. In the end, it's Yuuri who has the rodent in his claws. He'll play.

He squints, lip tilted ever so slightly that his motivations went undetected. Yuuri grins, and the man's breath heavied. He smiled back at him, lips curling in. It flickered through the flakes falling from his cigarette. His eyes. They were iced, like winter storm with no survivors. The man twisted the cigar between his fingers.

"You looked great out there." He pointed towards the door. His voice ran gentle. Was that an accent? He hadn't expected it to be so smooth. "Was the dance for you, or me?"

Yuuri folded his arms, tilting his hip. "Pick your poison."

The man had a palm out to shake. Who shook hands with Yuuri? He couldn't remember the last time he'd been greeted that kindly. It's foreign, the man's hand even more so.

"I'm Viktor." He meets Yuuri's eyes head-on, cheeks ablaze with a gentle smile. The name fit him. Surely Yuuri didn't know the man, but he could just tell from the nature of Viktor than the name fit like a bill. He liked the way it moved, liked how it rolled off the tongue with ease.

"I'm Eros. but you already knew that, didn't you?" His finger graces _Viktor's_ bottom lip. "You knew that the moment you came in here."

Viktor pales like a ghost had passed through him. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry…" He exhaled. "I've never been so close to an actual angel."

"What makes you think I'm an angel?"

"Has no one ever told you that?" His eyes bled into Yuuri, eyebrows knit together.

Viktor sighs, parting ways with the wall. Now that he wasn't slouching, the man towers over him. The sink ran low into his back. "Now that's a true crime darling."

He's shrinking, everything around them is melting with him into the floor. Viktor runs a hand down Yuuri's hip, lips breaching his neck, hot huffs grazing the skin.

"I'd call you that all the time if you let me."

Yuuri groaned, he _groaned_.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Viktor's palm sank lower than his hips, traveled to the start of Yuuri's panties. "I can _tell_."

This isn't fair. It should have been Yuuri with the man on _his_ knees!

"Hmmm? You like that my _angel?_ " He parts his lips, kissing at Yuuri's jaw. "My malishka?"

Yuuri gasped, arching his back.

"You had quite the ego on stage, may I ask where it's flown off to?" Viktor dips between his thighs, nudging his face into the nape of his neck.

Yuuri bites at his lip, fixing his focus to the back wall. The air is laced with a musk he's never tasted.

The door creaks open. Viktor glances at the noisy patruder.

Yuuri slides out of his arms, in case it's a coworker, god forbid his boss.

Viktor straightens his tie. His eyes are blown dark, lips pressed wet. He tucks his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat. "I got a bit carried away, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"I didn't ask you if you were o-"

"It's alright hun, you don't need to worry." Yuuri presses a kiss to his cheek. He thumbs patterns into his jaw. Viktor sighs, his eyes falling shut. "You okay sweetie?"

"... just keep doing whatever it is you're doing." He huffs, a small smile forming.

Yuuri giggles, running his other thumb across. "You're burning up."

Viktor licks his lips, leaning into the touch. He's so soft right now, Yuuri could coo.

"Let's sit you down okay?"

"Okay."  
He takes Viktors hand in his, leaning them against the wall.  
"What's got you so light headed huh?"

He traces his thumb across Yuuri's palm. "Don't know."

He rests his head on Viktor's chest. His heart sings a new melody to Yuuri. The thumps leave the rest of him numb. "You're telling me other things here." He nudges his face into Viktor's neck.

Viktor's breath hitches.

He kisses at the skin, runs his hand along Viktor's collar.

"Eros?"

"Hm?"

"Are you supposed to be in here with me?"

"That doesn't matter." He reaches for Viktor again, plays with hair falling into his eyes. "All that matters right now is _you._ " Viktor blinks. He's not responding as well as he was before. "Okay baby? I just wanna make you feel _good_."

"We nearly got caught."

Yuuri pauses the motions. "It's okay... you don't need to feel ashamed with me. I'll even let you take me from behind if it's too much."

"No…" Viktor presses his palm over his face. "I can't."

"We can take it nice and slow if you'd like." He rubs at Viktors back. "How far have you gone with a man?"

Viktor stands, dusts his pants off. He turns away from Yuuri, clears his throat. "I don't think that's for you to know."

It's a spit in Yuuri's face.

"Of course honey, I was just asking.."

"Yeah. You gonna ask the size of me too?" His voice is husky, but his words aren't.

"I have to. It's my job."

There it is again, that silence. It's dwelling between them. Viktor has a look in his eyes that tells him more than he needed. He's aware now, he's free to see Eros for the whore he is. It doesn't bother Yuuri though. If Viktor's going to be a client, he'll have to learn.

He heads to the door, pauses to meet Yuuri with a smile. It's fragile, more so than the cracks in the tile.

"Have a good night Eros."

* * *

The birds flutter overhead with renewed hopes planted by a warm cup of tea. Beneath the old pine Yuuri sits cross-legged, spinning a spoon through his sugared beverage like a madman on the end of a needle. He smiles sappily at the children playing hide and seek, enjoying their innocent charades. He never had their purity, and it lay him a whole different man because of it. The breeze began to pick the leaves from their branches, swindling them helplessly. Yuuri picked up his messenger bag and left the park unhinged. He could see it in their eyes, mothers glaring in pity and men sticking their noses up at him like they hadn't been watching him dance.

He's okay with it though. He couldn't blame them. Even when he wore sweaters with dress shoes they turned their cheeks. He'd learned to accept it.

This morning, Yuuri could dive into an old issue or bake a cake if he wanted to. However, today he isn't in the mood for culinary. Today he wants to take down the old Jefferson pathway and walk himself limp. His mother always told him a walk down the street could clear the mind. He slipped his empty cup into his bag and ventures forward.

It is when he goes into work later on that day that he notices something peculiar in his coworkers. They are whispering to one another, all the while sending quick glances at him. He simply shrugs it off as another rumor to be spread until he checks his mailbox. There is nothing he wants more at that moment than to hide away and never resurface. A bouquet of lilies, a small note paired with it. They were fresh cut, apparent from the mild fragrance touching the air. He sighs.

Yuuri has no way of knowing just how touching it's meant to be. Should he find more than a polite message in the flowers, it couldn't be said.

He threw them out.

* * *

Its the next time he sees him he wishes he didn't. He's wearing a tailored suit, handkerchief pressed to its pocket. Hair is swept over his eyes, lips pressed at the end of a cigarette. Charming, even in the after hours. Sometimes it'd be over a pint of whiskey. He'd be tucking his dress shirt in when Yuuri passes him, tipping the man's hat and tickling his neck. Yuuri loved the reaction it got out of him. He'd get away without Viktor having a word. Even on busy nights, it's tempting.

Viktor comes in later tonight. This time his fringe is disheveled and parted in places it shouldn't be. He takes a seat at the bar and asks for a drink. He's breathless, fingers trembling at the edge of his glass.

As the song starts, Yuuri feels a strange jolt run through him. The movements in his strut are offbeat and when his sight falls to the audience, it only gets worse. He breathes, closing his eyes. In and out. It's just a little case of cold feet, he could get back. He taps his heel to the lights instead of his curious audience and wanders across the stage. But he can't ignore the pounding in his ears, the motions threatening to break with every step. He's supposed to roll his hips now, right? Or it the last chord? Fuck.

It didn't matter though. Focus. This when he's supposed to find a man to tease... at least that comes natural. He's leaning his way towards a man he could care less about. Oh, but that wouldn't be a problem now would it? Maybe he's sinking, in the lukewarm waters of _Viktor._ Yuuri's heart skips a beat, the smug look on Viktors face leaving him panting. He needs to push the man away and move to the next. But he isn't able to get the feeling of his stubble off his mind. He teases another individual, yet it doesn't give him the same smittened tingle. With a trademarked wink, Yuuri leaves the stage in a dizzied frenzy.

He ignores the whispered insults from the other dancers, parting ways with his corset for the night on the end of a hanger. It has gotten frigid in the moonlight. He buries his face in a scarf, not paying attention on his way to the subway. He collides face front with the concrete. The figure above him apologizes profusely, leaning over Yuuri like a fallen angel without wings.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention. Are you okay? Do you need help?" The begging voice suddenly clicks. Silver locks peer down his crippled form. His pulse quickens. The pavement leaves him numb, but that accent...

When he turns to meet the owner, he can feel his stomach knot. It looks like Yuuri isn't the only victim though, for Viktor's blue eyes are almost vulnerable in the dim candlelight. "You're…"

He jumped to his feet, scraping his shins helplessly. Yuuri forgot he'd lacked the grace he shined so bright within the real world. His hair flies low into said eyes, blocking his line of sight but just barely saving him from facing direct eye contact. Usually, no one sees him like this, but he can't say that's true now. Not when the man moves a lock of hair out of his face, fingers so damn cold it hurts.

"Eros... right?" Viktor's smiles minisculely as if he'd been embarrassed. He reaches his palm out to Yuuri, offering a line of help.

Yuuri nods, rubbing at his cheek. "And you're Viktor. We know names." Probably isn't the time for teasing but he can't help it. Because Viktor looks so lopsided, staring at him like he's caught his breath and stored it somewhere magical. He wasn't as brash in this light, his eyes with shadows bagged beneath them, his lip busted.

"Why were you running?" Yuuri quips, pushing the bridge of his glasses. He'd scraped his knees, but that could go unknown for now.

"Oh? I uh, I have business to attend to."

"Well don't let me stop you."

"I stopped you!" Viktor pauses, teeth caught in his lip. "Are you hurt? Here let me take care of you."

"I'm fine."

"Please let me help you, I insist." He knit his eyebrows in, running patterns numb into Yuuri's skin. He startles, and it must have shown because Viktor let his face go.

"Oh dear, you're bruising."

This isn't normal, he is supposed to be taking Viktor home by now.

Viktor gently traces his finger along Yuuri's jaw. "Does that hurt?" He questions but oh, he's touching _that_ spot. No one touched there. Even if it _did_ hurt he can't help but moan at the implications.

"Mmm... yes..." he speaks a pitch higher, licking his lips.

"Okay." Viktor pauses, not even picking up on Yuuri's moan. He had dropped his briefcase in their collision. He looks through it for something, scrummaging impatiently until he finds what he's searching for. He runs a cold bag across his neck, eliciting a soft hiss from his throat.

"Only ice, that's all." Viktor runs his other hand across your cheek.

"Here, let's get you up." He pulls Yuuri with an incredible amount of force in his grip. It squeezes him a little too tight but he won't complain when a pair of brash arms wrap around him. He carries him to the nearest bench, putting him down like a delicate flower. Viktor bends down, spreading a gelled substance to his neck. It makes him grit out a groan.

"Shhh, it's okay, nothing a bandage can't fix."

He wraps Yuuri's wounds in a creamed bandage, the fabric sticking all too well. He didn't smile as he did that night. He had a warmth to his eyes Yuuri couldn't define.

"Why are you helping me?"

And then Viktor pauses. His lips are parted, and he licks them slowly.

"If you wanted to take me, you could've done it much earlier than this."

Viktor's eyes longed for his body, finding Yuuri with a pained frown.

"Is that all you think of yourself." It wasn't a question to be answered, no. And even if he can respond with words, they lie stuck at the back of his throat like glue. He braces himself for the impact, clenching his eyes shut and lowering his head. But it doesn't come, and instead, it is Viktor who looked hit.

He moves even further then, setting a fair distance. "Where do you live now?"

* * *

With an overwhelming persistence, Yuuri lets Viktor walk him home. When they stop in front of his apartment building, you can hear a penny drop.

"You're sure you'll be fine in just that?" Yuuri questions, secretly wishing Viktor would go without his jacket for a while, let him keep it warm.

"Of course." He turns to face Yuuri, a shy crinkle in his eye. He clears his throat, taking Yuuri's hand. He leans to press a kiss to the palm.

Yuuri can feel his face grow pale.

He lets out a shaken sigh. Yuuri shifts away, folding his arms.

Viktor chuckles under his breath. "Sorry. I couldn't resist. Do you need anything else before I go?" He tilts his head at Yuuri, almost genuine.

"No… I think I'll be fine from here." He slowly verbalizes, eyes on the ground.

"Alright." Viktor's gaze doesn't falter. He leaves a brief distance in between them, making Yuuri all the more cornered. They are at the start of his steps, and the apartment couldn't be farther. He must be seeing things, either that or Viktor is really close. His breath braces Yuuri with scotch, a hint of smoke. Had he not heard Yuuri? He gasps at the impact of the wall behind him.

They are outside but the walls close in around him. The heat travels along the tip of his ear, fragile huffs painting the rest of the city's noise mute. He can move, he can push him away. Instead, he lets Viktor cup his face and touches his skin, searching his own wordless expression. He let the man hold him. Before this, Yuuri would be already up the steps, already beneath the covers and praying to a better place.

"Thank you... By the way..."

"For?"

"Helping me..."

"What? No. It was nothing I assure you."

Lights from upstairs came on, the shrieks of a baby startling a wince out of the two. Even so, Viktor's grip doesn't falter. It might have tightened if anything.

"Viktor… I need to get to bed."

"Huh? Oh! yes, of course, please don't let me keep you."

He's dazed again, and it's not from the fall. It's just them in this alley. Not even the blinding lamplight can bring them down. Yuuri leans on his tippy toes, kissing Viktor's nose. It's glowing.

"Goodnight."


End file.
